


After All This Time

by iceprinceofbelair



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bullying, Child Abuse, Gen, Neglect, Pre-Canon, School
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 08:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3167861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iceprinceofbelair/pseuds/iceprinceofbelair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Troublemaker.<br/>If you asked anybody at Stonewall Primary what they thought of Harry Potter, they'd say the same thing. <br/>-<br/>Harry's Year 3 teacher notices that things don't quite add up. He can't see Harry Potter as the troublemaker he's been led to expect and maybe a fresh pair of eyes are just what Harry needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After All This Time

Troublemaker.

If you asked anybody at Stonewall Primary what they thought of Harry Potter, they'd say the same thing. Harry Potter was a notorious troublemaker - he instigated fights with his cousin and rarely, if ever, completed his homework. He was occasionally found in the toilets instead of in class, hiding out in the end cubicle of the boys' toilets on the second floor. Always there. A violent, lazy child who played truant and lied through his teeth, coming up with outrageous excuses for injuries, usually by placing his cousin in the frame.

When the two stood side-by-side, Dudley did indeed seem like a obvious perpetrator. At least three times Harry's size and almost twice his height, he could appear threatening, particularly when surrounded by his friends. But the Dursleys would insist, and the teachers would believe, that the relationship between the two boys was no better at home and that Dudley was all too often the victim of Harry's violent outbursts. He acted only in self-defence. Everybody knew it.

Everybody except Mr Allmore of Class 3B.

Harry had been in his class for a little over two months now and, from what he could gather, the child was not anything he had been told to expect. He'd been forewarned that he was to have a boy this year on the brink of expulsion and had prepared himself for the worst. But when he laid eyes on Harry Potter with his oversized uniform and sad eyes, he couldn't bring himself to believe the stories he'd been told.

_"I'm afraid you've drawn the short straw this year, Chris," the tight-lipped headmistress had informed him when she'd handed out class lists before the summer. "That Harry Potter's a right little menace. Keep an eye on him. Any behaviour you can't handle and you send him straight to me. He needs a firm hand, that one."_

_This had been met with murmurs of agreement throughout the classroom. Mrs Pierce, who was sipping her coffee wearily, piped up from across the room._

_"I've got his cousin in my class just now," she'd said. "Sweet boy. Not the brightest bulb in the box, I grant you, but he wouldn't hurt a fly. That Potter boy's got it in for him, so he has. His aunt and uncle - he lives with them, you know - were in last week, complaining about him."_

_"Yes, I've heard they don't get on at home either," Chris had sighed. Mrs Pierce snorted._

_"That's putting it lightly."_

Chris did not like to disagree with his colleagues. After all, he was the youngest of them all and had only been out of university for a little over three years and at Stonewall for just over two. He didn't have their experience. But he just couldn't see the troublemaker in Harry Potter that he'd been warned about. If anything, the boy seemed a more likely target than a perpetrator. He was thin - unnaturally so - though it was difficult to tell since his baggy school clothes masked his slim figure and he was quite isolated from his classmates. Though Chris couldn't swear to it, he'd once or twice caught sight of what looked like some nasty blue bruises just under his collar. But it could have been a trick of the light, a shadow.

That was probably all.

Still, the way the boy flinched whenever Chris leaned over him to check his work made his heart sink. The poor kid. He'd probably been the victim of some prank or other which had gone horribly wrong. He seemed put upon, perhaps picked on a little.

But Chris couldn't get anybody to take him serious when he brought it up.

_"Harry Potter?" They'd say. "Harry Potter being picked on? Pigs will fly."_

In class, Harry worked hard. Chris found him to be an exceptionally bright child with a particular flare for English. His creative writing often centred around small children going on wild adventures and there seemed to be particular emphasis on family. Of course, Chris knew that the boy had lost his parents, had never really known them, and had thus been raised by his aunt and uncle. At first, he'd considered this the obvious reason for Harry's obsession with family life but, as the weeks wore on, a horrible idea began to fester.

It began as a simple concern that perhaps Harry was unhappy at home, that he needed some time away from that lump of a cousin of his. Chris, for one, had never been taken in by the innocence Dudley Dursley seemed to ooze so readily. The others may have been fooled but there was an atmosphere which surrounded the boy, a feeling Chris got when he entered a room which couldn't really be put into words. Something was off.

The worst of all was Harry's response to praise. Every pat on the shoulder, though it made him flinch terribly, brought a new light into his eyes and every time he had his jotter returned adorned with a silver star and several green ticks, he smiled softly. Chris had once caught him tracing a tick with his finger delicately, almost protectively. It almost felt - _almost_ \- like the idea of praise, of affection, was a foreign concept. That thought was the most frightening of all and Chris had to squash a shred of shame when he pushed it to the back of his mind in an attempt to forget.

Harry Potter was an enigma. He was thin and tired and pale but he was also bright and cheerful and as hardworking as Chris could ever ask of anyone. And yet, his homework was never done, his sums left unfinished and his spelling consistently ignored or rushed as though it had been done in the playground before school began. He hated having to do this and wished it could be avoided but he couldn't have a pupil persistently neglecting his homework. With a small sigh, he wrote, _See me at interval,_ in green pen. (He didn't like to use red, not even for mistakes. It sent the wrong signals.)

"All right, coats on," he called over the din of his class rushing to leave. Harry, he noted thankfully, remained seated, still writing but somewhat slower than usual. His heart didn't seem to be in it.

Chris watched the child curiously, feeling the silence coddle him uncomfortably. Harry had stopped scribbing but made no move to get up so Chris went to him and took a seat in the child-sized chair across from him without a word. For a moment, he observed Harry's hunched shoulders, his eyes permanently fixed on his desk which had apparently become endlessly fascinating within the past thirty seconds.

"Harry?" Chris said gently but the boy did not respond. "Harry, look at me."

Reluctantly and looking as though he wished he were anywhere else, Harry's brilliant green eyes met his own and Chris was suddenly overwhelmed by the weight of sadness they held. No child should ever feel such intense sadness. He swallowed.

"You're a good student, Harry," Chris informs him and Harry looks at him disbelievingly for a moment before he looks back to his desk. "One of my best, in fact. You race through the work; you're miles ahead of everybody else. In class, you're a star. So, can you explain to me why it is that you haven't handed me any homework since the term began?"

Harry's posture was closed, defensive. His face seemed to mirror a hundred emotions at once before finally settling on a look of weary defeat which set alarm bells ringing in Chris' head.

"Can't do it," Harry mumbled and Chris might have missed it had he not been listening. He didn't have to ask what Harry meant because he elaborated of his own accord in the same quiet voce. "S'cause m'stupid."

Of all the things Chris had been expecting, that was not on his list. It took him a moment to recover from the shock.

"Now, what gave you that idea?" He asked, trying to keep his voice neutral. Harry shrugged. "Well, I know you're not stupid, Harry. You're very intelligent for your age. Your creative writing is wonderful, well beyond the standard I'd expect from-"

"From someone like me?" Harry cut in before he could finish, his voice lacking the bitterness Chris could see in his expression.

"From any eight year old," he clarified quietly, unsure of exactly what Harry had been trying to imply. He didn't push for an answer.

Harry hugged his arms across his stomach. If anything, it made him look even smaller. Chris wondered if that was exactly what he had been going for. It was like he didn't want to be noticed, like he hated the attention, like-

Chris halted his train of thought only when another collided with it headon.

It wasn't that he didn't want to be noticed - it was that he wasn't _used_ to it. He was used to being invisible, to being ignored. And that terrible suspicion from before forced its way to the forefront of Chris' thoughts. He tried to remember, tried to recall any past signals - anything that could make this a solid concern.

It hit him that _of course there were signals_ because Harry flinched away from physical contact yet at the same time seemed to crave it; because Harry wore clothes which didn't fit and had fading bruises hidden beneath long sleeves; because Harry's eyes were desperately sad; because Harry couldn't see his own self-worth if it had been dangling right in front of him.

Because Harry wrote stories about children who escaped.

Chris had not realised how long he'd been silent until Harry began to shift uncomfortably in his seat, bringing him back to the present. He shooed Harry out to play without a second thought and immediately rifled through Harry's tray for his English jotter.

He felt a weight settle in his chest.

There was the story about Moony, the six-year-old werewolf whose parents had thought him a freak, had cast him out into the street. _Moony was sad becuase his mum and his dad wear not nice and they did not like him as much as there other son._

And then Anabelle whose family had _gone away to heaven_ and left her all alone. _She had to take food from shops because she was hungry but she never got cot because she was a very sneaky girl and she was very clever too and she did not mind that she was alone because there was not any shouting._

James was a character who reappeared quite regularly, often as a child's saviour or protector. James was a very powerful man, in Harry's stories. He was a wizard or magician of some kind who could make their lives better. Though the stories were very often unfinished, Chris got the feeling Harry would have had his characters live happily ever after with James and a proper family.

But there was one story which utterly destroyed him, which blew the whole thing completely out of the water. It was so damn _obvious_  that he wondered how it had slipped by him, how he could have let it. About a small boy who had not been given a name and was referred to simply as _the boy._ _The boy wanted to be liked but nobody liked the boy because they thought he was strange and they thought he was trouble._ But he wasn't. Harry had created several incidents for which the boy had been blamed - like accidentally setting a ferret loose in the house when actually it had gotten in on its own. The incidents themselves were quite comical but the punishments; it made him feel ill to think of them.

Being sent to bed without supper - a punishment he knew to be quite effective and had been subjected to several times during his childhood. But being sent to bed without supper and accepting it readily as though, somehow, the boy deserved that treatment. Harry had dealt with the whole thing so subtley and so comically that it had never seemed to be anything more than the result of a child's wide imagination.

As awful as it all seemed now, nothing could top the words Harry had not used. Or, rather, the words he had scored out, specifically one word which was barely visible beneath several harsh pencil marks.

_Go to your ~~cuboard~~ bed now with out food!! the boys ~~uncle~~ dad said in a loud voise._

Cupboard.

The idea alone was enough to send his stomach plummeting and his head spinning with dizziness. He clutched Harry's jotter tight between his fingers until it began to crumble at the edges and he forced himself to release his grip. Desperation overwhelmed him. He had to see the headmistress.

On his way past, the glanced at the clock and cursed softly. The bell was due to ring at any moment. He had to collect his class from the playground. He was torn. He couldn't just leave them standing there but, on the other hand, this was a possible case of-

He couldn't even think those words. Not Harry. How could anyone? And to such a sweet boy?

He thought he might be sick.

With his remaining energy focussed on maintaining a neutral expression, he approached the lines of children - a boys' and a girls' line side by side - and beckoned them to follow. He couldn't bring himself to scan their faces for fear he'd catch Harry's eye.

But Harry's seat was empty once he'd settled everyone down. He wasn't in the cloakroom. Chris felt the nausea returning and had to urgently ask his classroom assistant to supervise while he darted into the staff toilet and promptly emptied the contents of his stomach. He gazed at his own reflecting in the mirror above the sink - surely, surely he was overreacting. Harry had a vivid imagination. Perhaps it was simply-

But he was underweight and his clothes didn't fit and-

And he was so sad.

The headmistress was waiting outside his classroom door when he returned with his breath smelling suspiciously of mint. There was nothing more suspicious than mint.

"I told you that Potter boy was nothing but trouble," she hissed by way of greeting. Chris merely blinked. "Got into a fight with that cousin of his and now he's having a little game of hide-and-seek."

Chris barely had time to wonder how she knew Harry was missing before his expression betrayed him and she provided him with that information on her own.

"Little sneak slipped out of my office when I was taking a call," she said bitterly. "He's holed up in the toilets on the second floor. Can't get him to come out for love nor money."

 _Or threats,_ Chris finished for her.

"Let me try," he found himself saying. "He might feel less threatened."

"Threatened?" Her eyebrows were in danger of disappearing into her hair. "If anyone should feel threatened it's-"

But Chris never found out who it was that had the right to feel threatened because he cut her off with his tone barely disguising his anger.

"One of these days we might all wish we'd treated Harry with a little more compassion."

She shot him a glare and opened her mouth as though to make another snide remark but thought better of it. She sniffed. "At any rate, I've called his aunt and uncle. They'll be here within the next ten minutes to take the boy home."

"Home?" Chris asked before he could stop himself. The day had barely started.

For a moment, something like regret flashed in her eyes but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared and she said, "Yes. He's had three final warnings. He left me no choice."

Chris couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. Expelled. He could only wonder how Mr and Mrs Dursley would react if Harry were to be expelled.

Oh, God, he hoped he was wrong.

He made no effort to excuse himself from the conversation politely, choosing instead to turn on his heel and head for the stairs. Just how he was planning to make Harry open up within the next ten minutes, he didn't know, but there was little he could do if Harry was about to be expelled. It would take Social Work time to get involved and Chris could not, in good conscience, send the child home with his family.

He opened the door cautiously, expecting to find adults there in their tens but he found only one member of the support staff knocking lazily on the door to what he could only presume was Harry's cubicle. She glanced up when he arrived and rolled her eyes, clearly expecting him to join in - what a nice time they all must having, mocking Harry Potter, Stonewall's little troublemaker.

Chris simply glared. She left in rather a hurry after that, mumbling about paperwork though Chris hardly heard her. He had another focus now.

"Harry?" He called softly, inching closer. He heard a small whimper and then silence. "I've been really worried about you, y'know. You didn't come back after playtime."

  1.   Chris crouched down in front of the cubicle, making sure to keep enough distance for Harry not to feel trapped should he peek out.



"I was really looking forward to hearing what you thought about 'Matilda'. I love hearing you talk about books, Harry." He went on, hoping to put the poor boy at ease. "I think you and Matilda are an awful lot alike. You're both such avid readers and very, very intelligent."

Chris didn't really expect an answer but he did hear some hopeful shuffling and then the door had been cracked open just a little and Chris noted the red rim around Harry's visible eye.

"I think you and she are alike in a lot of ways," he said gently, watching Harry's eyes flicker with an emotion Chris couldn't identify. Fear, perhaps? "Matilda's family didn't care about her, did they? She had to learn how to look after herself really young."

Harry sniffled but he made no move to contradict his teacher. Nor did he attempt to shut the door again, however, which could only be taken as a positive sign.

"Do you remember who helped Matilda?"

Harry nodded wordlessly. Chris smiled.

"And who was that?"

"Miss Honey."

Harry's voice quivered and sounded thick with unshed tears. Chris just wanted to hold him.

"That's right," he forced himself to say instead, keeping his voice calm. Well, to the best of his ability at any rate. "I know you might think we're all a bit rubbish, but teachers aren't just here to help children learn. We care about you and we want to keep you safe."

Harry looked disbelieving. "You all think I'm trouble," he mumbled.

"I don't think that." Chris said honestly. "I think you're afraid and I think you've been treated unfairly by almost everybody in your life. I think you're a very clever little boy."

There was a short silence during which Harry contemplated opening the door and Chris contemplated breaking down in tears but neither acted on those thoughts. They appeared to be at a stalemate until Harry said timidly, "S'gonna call my aunt and uncle."

"They're on their way here," Chris said, the concern rekindling. Harry looked both terrified and miserable at the thought. "Does that scare you?"

Harry nodded.

"Do _they_ scare you?"

A pause and then another nod.

"Nobody should fear their own family," Chris told him. "They shouldn't make you scared."

The tears started to spill then and Chris felt his heart aching in his chest.

"I'm s-s-sorry, Mr Allmore," Harry trembled, his shaking hands unable to hold the door steady. He allowed it to swing open. "Please, don't be angry! I don't mean to be scared! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

But Chris wasn't listening; he was too busy gazing at the red marks surrounding Harry's left eye. No doubt it would bruise within the hour. He felt a strange sense of calm wash over him.

"You're hurt," he said simply.

"No!" Harry yelled, making Chris start. It took him a moment to realise that it was fuelled more by terror than anger. "I wasn't fighting, Sir! Honest, I wasn't fighting! Please, Sir. I'm sorry!"

Chris held out his hand to the child, beckoning him closer. "I know you weren't." He said and he knew he wasn't technically supposed to take a child's side before he knew the whole story but Harry was just so helpless in that moment.

The boy threw himself into Chris' lap, finally letting his guards down. He sobbed and clung to Chris like he'd never let go. Chris gathered the child up in his arms and rocked him, mumbling about nothing and playing absently with Harry's mop of hair. The poor kid was distraught.

Everything came rushing back to Chris at once as he sat there with Harry Potter curled up in his lap. Harry feared his family. Harry wore oversized clothes. Harry had the BMI of your average five year old despite being eight and a quarter. Looking at him, Chris cursed himself to hell and back for being so damn blind to a child in need.

Harry pulled back briefly to squint at him - Chris had tried to convince his guardians that Harry really did need an eye test but he'd been shouted down - and, apparently satisfied with what he saw, settled with his cheek on Chris' chest which was heaving with the effort of keeping his anger contained. There was so much rage there but he took deep breaths in an attempt to force himself into a state of calm. Anger wouldn't do Harry any good.

Everything happened at once. The door slammed open and Harry clocked the burly man who stood there before scooting back into the cubicle with a frightened shriek. Chris positioned himself between the two. He recognised the man as Harry's uncle and he wondered briefly if his face was always purple or if that only happened when he was forced to acknowledge that he had a nephew.

"Hand him over!" Dursley spat.

Chris drew himself up to his full height, which saw him only an inch shorter, and stood his ground. Knowing what Harry had suffered at this man's hands made him positively tremble with rage but acting unprofessionally would only result in his reprimand and would do Harry no good whatsoever.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Mr Dursley," he said firmly.

Dursley wore an expression which suggested he was a man unused to being denied anything. He took a step closer, clearly meaning to intimidate.

"I have taken time out of my day to come here and collect that little brat and I will not hesitate to take him by force."

Chris bristled. "I'm sorry, Sir. But Harry is under my protection," he went on, trying to keep his voice steady. "I cannot allow you to take him."

"Cannot allow..." Dursley repeated as though unable to believe his own ears. "Just who the hell do you think you are, boy?"

"Christopher Allmore. Harry's teacher," Chris said coldly. "And, believe me, I'm _very_ difficult to bully."

Chris could hear the sound of Harry sobbing quietly behind him and felt his heart clench. How nobody had picked up on this before, he just did not know. But he made a vow to himself right than that he would not allow Harry to slip through the net - he'd get the help he deserved. Somehow.

Dursley appeared to soften at these words and he lowered his voice.

"Look," he began quietly. "I don't know why you've gotten yourself so worked up over him but that boy is trouble. He's manipulative and he's constantly telling lies. We can't trust a word he says."

To Chris' horror, Dursley leaned back against the wall and ran a meaty hand over his big, purple face. He looked almost genuine. Almost.

"It's been hard," Dursley went on. "He won't listen. We've tried to instill discipline in the boy but he cannot be taught. He's too stubborn for his own good. Surely you've noticed that he never does his homework. I don't know how he behaves in your class but, in our home, he's a menace."

Chris frowned. "Be that as it may, I'm legally obligated to protect any child I believe-"

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Dursley exploded suddenly. Chris flinched in surprise. "Can't you see that this is what he wants. He's desperate for attention."

"I wonder if that's because he's been deprived his whole life," Chris said before he could stop himself.

Dursley's moustache trembled. "What exactly are you accusing us of?"

"I'm not accusing you of anything, Mr Dursley," Chris said pleasantly. "But I do have to ask you to leave now or I'll have you forcibly removed by the proper authorities."

Chris was thankful that Dursley was not as thick as his neck. He knew that Chris had authority over him so long as Harry remained here. Perhaps he wasn't quite sure of the extent of that authority but Chris didn't intend to enlighten him anytime soon. Best leave him guessing.

"He has to come home sometime," Dursley said dangerously. "And, when he does, he'll get what's coming to him."

With that, he was gone and Chris was left listening to Harry Potter hyperventilating in the cubicle behind him. Being a school, the toilets were fairly easy to open from the outside if you knew what you were doing. There was a catch just beneath the lock (which would have gone unnoticed had you not been looking for it) which could be pulled down and to the left to release the bolt on the door.

Chris knelt.

"It's alright now, Harry," he whispered. "He's gone. It's okay."

Harry didn't seem to hear him and he jumped about a foot in the air when Chris placed a hand on his knee.

"Harry," he tried again. "It's just you and me now. You're safe."

This time, it took Harry only a moment to scamper over to where Chris sat and curl up next to him. Gradually, he got a handle on the panic coursing through him. He relaxed against Chris' side out of sheer exhaustion. Chris said nothing, waiting for Harry to let him know when he was ready to speak. Eventually, his little voice piped up nervously.

"Mr Allmore," it mumbled. "Thank you for not letting him take me."

Chris felt a lump in his throat. "I'll always protect you, Harry," he promised.

~

Harry Potter arrived at his home address in the December of 1998, all grown up. He'd seen things; terrible things. And Chris had a wife and daughter. But he welcomed Harry in with open arms and let him sleep on the couch and soothed him when he felt the anxiety rising in his chest. Harry told him of the war, of the friends he'd lost. And Chris believed him because, somehow, he knew this madness was true. Harry Potter had never lied to him. And now Harry Potter was tired - tired of fighting and breathing and hurting.

It was after a particularly bad nightmare that Chris found himself holding the man he remembered as a boy. And he said, "I'll always protect you, Harry."

Harry looked at him with a secret smile, like he knew something Chris didn't. "After all this time?" He asked quietly.

"Always."

 

**Author's Note:**

> I live for stories where people rescue Harry from those shitheads.


End file.
